


Anticipate the Consequences

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [91]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Infidelity, M/M, Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Tony Can Be Very Persuasive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “I don’t think of myself as criminal so much as an anarchic entrepreneur.”Steve raised an eyebrow. “Pretty words, Stark. Is that how you sleep at night?”





	Anticipate the Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Crime. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator%22).

“I don’t think of myself as criminal so much as an anarchic entrepreneur.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Pretty words, Stark. Is that how you sleep at night?”

Stark dipped his lids, his mouth going halfway to coquettish. “Why, Officer Rogers. I don’t think it’s any of your business how I do or do not sleep. I’m flabbergasted by your forwardness.”

Steve’s face went red. It always went red--when he flustered, or embarrassed, or when Bucky kissed him too close to the window in their bedroom, some place where somebody might see. Being teased by Tony Stark, professional ne’er do well and city scourge, for some reason felt like all three.

“Make all the jokes you want,” Steve said, aiming for gruff. “Another hour and you’ll be headed upstate to wait for trial. And something tells me you won’t have to many occasions to yuk it up there.”

Stark shook his head and pitched back a little from the table, as far as his shackled hands would let him. “Oh dear,” he said. “Well, then I’ll have to practice my craft with you here, won’t I?”

Steve stood up. Why he’d ever thought sitting across from Stark was a good idea was beyond him. Here they were, alone, him just as stuck as Stark until the bus for Attica arrived. He could’ve had somebody else in there with him, could’ve had somebody there in his stead; that’s what Fury had wanted: a beat cop, maybe, or one of the more intimidating sergeants. Steve had done the hard part of catching the guy, Fury’d said, one hand on Steve’s shoulder. Why not let somebody else do the shit work of babysitting Stark in the middle of the goddamned night?

No, Steve had told Fury, told himself now. This was his case. Had eaten his life up for months, and short of Stark’s open-and-shut trial, the final blow of Lady Justice, this was the last step on the road. He wanted to see the bus doors open and watch Stark disappear inside and _know_ , beyond any fucking doubt, that the man was on his way to his comeuppance at last and that it was Steve who’d put him there, Steve who’d brought his operations to an end.

He wanted Stark to see the face of the guy who’d nailed him. That was a big part of it, too.

But he hadn’t expected to look at Tony Stark and like what he saw.

It didn’t help that Stark was in a dinner jacket, one that had clearly been made for him, the way it hugged the lines of his body. They’d take away his bow tie at processing, of course, but if anything, the open collar was even more appealing; it framed the tanned hollow of his throat and hinted at all the bare skin that lay below.

Steve had seen his face before, of course; not just on wanted posters but also through the bug eyes of binoculars. Tony had been his sights for weeks and still, it felt like tonight was the first time he’d laid eyes on the man in any way that really mattered and what Steve saw--that sharp jawline, those bedroom eyes, that teasing, knowing smile--to his ever-loving chagrin: he liked.

“Officer Rogers--”

“ _Detective_.”

Stark raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me. Detective Rogers. Can I call you Steve?”

“We’re hardly on first-name terms, Stark.”

“Aren’t we? I feel like we should be. You’ve been living in my back pocket for months, haven’t you? You or someone from your badge-wearing crew.”

“Are you saying I’ve invaded your privacy?”

Stark snickered and spread his hands as far as the cuffs would allow. “Of course you have. 90% of being a policeman--pardon me _,_ a _detective_ \--is akin to acting like a Peeping Tom.”

“That’s a gross oversimplification.”

“Mmm, no. It’s not. You get off on sticking your face up to other people’s windows, Steve? Something tells me you do.”

Steve could feel his blood boiling, could see plain as damn day what Stark was trying to do: to get under his skin, to find some little weakness, to piss Steve off enough that he’d do something stupid like hit him or get close to him or call him by his first name.

And even still, as soon as he opened his mouth, the words got away from him.

“Something tells me,” he said, “that you like playing to other people’s base instincts. That you can’t help yourself from doing it, searching for that lowest common denominator. Even now, ten steps from iron bars that’ll pen in the rest of your life.”

“Yeah, I noticed how sure you seem about that. I don’t know that I would be.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Uh huh. And why’s that?”

“Because I can afford the best lawyer in the country. The best lawyers, if it comes to that.”

“Even Clarence Darrow couldn’t get you off for this shit, Stark. We’ve got proof a mile long.”

Stark’s eyes danced, his mouth did, and he looked for all the world like Steve was the one handcuffed to a table and he was the one roaming free.

“I don’t want Clarence Darrow to get me off, Rogers.”

“You don’t, huh?”

“Oh no. That honor very much goes to you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Stark smiled, a pleased predator’s grin. “Loud and clear. Didn’t you?”

Steve felt the blood hit his ears, pour over his chest, stretch its eager fingers down towards his dick. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Stark hummed. “Of course you do. That’s why you’re standing as far away from me as you can, why you’ve been pacing around like a tiger in a cage. That’s why you’re getting stiff in those nice sensible trousers, aren’t you? You feel it, too, the energy between us.”

“You’re crazy. Even crazier than I thought.”

“Uh huh. Sure I am.”

The air felt heavy, like a thunderstorm was coming. Like a July day that stayed overbaked. But Steve didn’t do the sensible thing and run for some kind of cover. No. His loafers felt like they were made out of stone.

“There’s an easy way to settle this,” Stark said, easy, like they were discussing a bet made over two beers.

“Settle what?”

“If you feel it or not.”

“I told you, I don’t--”

“Pffft. I know what you told me. I’m saying that I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

“Oh, yes you do.” Stark grinned at him again and Steve felt his damn stomach swoop. “You’re a Boy Scout of a man, Steve. I can see it. Truth, honor, and the American way. You’ve built your whole life on people taking you at your word and my money says you can’t stand the thought of somebody finally calling bullshit.”

“Your money,” Steve shot back, “was made selling sex and bootleg whiskey. That money’s not worth a damn thing to me.”

“No, but the gold standard of your word is. And that’s worth nothing to me, so you see. We’re at an impasse.”

It was like arguing with a snake, one determined to make you eat your own tail. Steve should have turned his back, should’ve walked away, but to do so would have been weakness. And for reason he didn’t want Stark riding off to Attica with the idea in his head that Steve Rogers, detective for the NYPD, was weak.

So he said: “What would you suggest then, Stark?”

Stark sat back and held the silence for a moment. “I would suggest,” he said, “that you show me your cock.”

“ _What_?”

“If being alone in this claustrophobic little room with me isn’t getting you hot--which I maintain that it is--then your dick will tell, won’t it?” A smirk, a hundred matches lit up at once. “Unzip your pants, Detective Rogers, and the truth will out.”

Steve stumbled, grabbed the edge of the table. “You _are_ crazy.”

“Am I?” Stark raised his eyebrows. “You’re the one who hasn’t said no.”

There were moments in life, Steve knew, when you hang over a gap--ahead, the world that might be; behind, the life that one’s always known. For him, there was the day he’d met Bucky in basic; the day the war ended; the first day that he’d spent on the beat. But none had felt quite so enormous, quite so dangerous, quite as good, as the moment when he dangled on the edge of Stark’s dare, that handsome face turned up expectant towards his.

He’d have no way to lie, he thought; no badge to hide behind, no gun. No shame. Never mind that he’d spent most of this investigation trying to tamp down the flare in his gut that popped when Stark came into view, sharp and small and far away on the other end of Steve’s binoculars. He’d done his best to deny it, to bury it, to pretend it was romantic claptrap--idolizing a criminal, and not just any one: the biggest boss in this part of the city. It was his job to get creeps like Stark off the streets, period; there was no room for a crush.

And yet he’d had one, hadn’t he, nearly this whole time, and he shouldn’t have been surprised about the way he was feeling, the way his body was reacting--he should’ve seen this coming a mile away.

Steve knew Stark was a manipulator, a man who had a grand life because other people were weak, but it didn’t change what he was feeling, how hot he was from just Stark’s hungry gaze.

Bucky wouldn’t have to know. Or Fury. He and the rest of the guys had gone home; only the night sergeant was left, and he couldn’t leave the front desk. Nobody would ever find out.

“Well?” Stark said, his voice lower than before, thick. “Are you gonna show me or not?”

Steve’s fingers moved of their own accord, his head settling into something like clarity, like a forest floor scraped clean by smoke and flame. “Yes,” he said, thumbing open the first button, then the second. “I am.”

Stark made a short, startled sound. “You--?”

And then Steve pulled himself out, balanced the weight of his cock in his palm. There was no fear anymore, no more shame, because Stark’s eyes were glued to him, to the gentle sweep of his thumb over the head.

“Looks like I was lying,” Steve said.

“You sure as fuck were.” Stark grinned, the tops of his cheeks like sudden roses. “That was a hell of a whopper, Rogers.”

Steve stroked himself a few times, watched Stark’s throat clench. “Are you happy now, Tony? Is it ok if I put it away?”

He was teasing, he realized; teasing one of the most dangerous men in New York and loving it, loving how wide Stark’s eyes had gotten, how much he was squirming now in that hard metal chair.

Stark said: “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Hmmm.” Steve stretched out his free hand and tipped his fingers against Stark’s face. “What should I do, then?”

“You’re not gonna uncuff me, are you?”

“Hell no.”

Stark chuckled. “Of course not. Damn it. Only so far I can push you, huh?”

Steve gave himself a squeeze, a harder tug below the crown, and grinned when Stark gave up a whine. “Mmmm, yeah. So don’t push it.”

“Then touch yourself,” Stark said. “Get yourself all the way up and over, just for me. Let me see how pretty your are when you come.”

“Yeah?” Steve made a fist and arched his hips. Took a half step closer. “You need something to keep you warm up there?”

Stark moaned, strained against the chains holding him fast. “Fuck yes.”

Steve sped up his strokes, trembled with pleasure. There was something about Stark watching him, wanting him, and being completely denied that made Steve’s blood burn.

“You have to promise me something, though,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What?” Stark bit his lip, his eyes caught on Steve’s cock. “What is it, baby? Anything you want. _Anything_.”

“Promise me you’ll think about this every night.”

The table lurched as Stark’s body jerked. “God--!”

“Every night in your bunk, behind all those bars. You’ll put your hand on your cock and think about me.”

“Yes. _Yes._ ”

“Every night.” It was harder to talk now, the words cut up and breathy. “Every night, Tony. Come on. Say it.”

“Every night,” Stark panted. “Every goddamn night, Steve. I promise.”

Steve slipped his hand from Stark’s cheek to his chin and held the man’s head steady, held that glorious, straining gaze firm, even as his fist flew, his balls drawing up tight. “Good boy. You can be good when you want to, can’t you?”

Stark whined and Steve could see the cuffs cutting into his wrists, the white there threatening red. “For you, I can be good. I can be so good for you, baby. Just let me--”

The first shot of spunk hit his chin, the second splattered his mouth, and the sound that Tony Stark made--this frustrated wail of want--rattled Stark’s’ chains, his chair, the hair on top of Steve’s head, and the third pulse went wide, smothered his cheek in dripping white.

“You’re crazy,” Stark said. “God, Rogers, you’re fucking crazy in the best goddamned way and I’m never gonna see you again.”

“Yes, you will. In court.”

“You know what I mean.”

Steve turned a thumb over Stark’s mouth, dipped it gently inside of his lip, drew it back. “Yeah. I know.”

“So,” Stark said. “The least you can fucking do is kiss me.”

“That doesn’t seem so smart to me.”

“It doesn’t, huh? Says the guy who doesn’t have come all over his face. And a hard-on for the fucking ages.”

Steve laughed and sank to his knees, his trousers still open, his knees still shaking like newly-planted trees. “This was your idea.”

Stark eyed him, their faces more or less flush. “Meaning, if I didn’t anticipate the consequences, I shouldn’t bitch about the result.”

“Exactly,” Steve said, leaning out, reaching forward. “Exactly, that. Yeah.”

Stark tasted like cigarettes and rye whiskey, like Steve’s own spunk, and Stark’s arms might’ve been caught between them and the angle may have been odd, but it was a good kiss, slow and dirty. Surprisingly sweet.

“You’re a menace to criminal society, Rogers,” Stark said, after, his lips moving soft over Steve’s cheek. “May I say that I have many friends who won’t be happy that you’ve taken me down.”

Steve curved a hand around the back of Stark’s neck. “Hmm. Is that a threat?”

“No. Merely a cold statement of reality.”

“I’m not letting you go.”

“I know that. I know.” Steve felt Stark’s mouth curl. “But you will come visit me, won’t you?”

“Now why would I do that?” Steve laid his fingers over Stark’s hands, traced the bite of the cuffs. “You won’t be able to touch me there, either.”

“But we can talk.”

“Uh huh. And what good will that do us?”

“You, I don’t know. But me?” Stark surged forward and kissed him, a sudden shove of fervent tongue. Then whispered: “I don’t know if you know this, but I can be very convincing. Persuasive, even. When given enough time.”

“And what is it you want to convince me of? Your innocence? Good goddamned luck.”

“No, no. Never that, dear. Only--who knows? You might be persuaded to forget things--”

“No.”

“Or lose evidence.”

“Not going to happen.”

Stark’s teeth found his ear. “Or to find a way for us to be together. Somewhere without handcuffs. If only for an hour or two.” He moaned, small and hot. “Oh, the things I’d like to do for you, Detective Rogers. The very wicked things. You’d be shocked. In the most pleasant of ways.”

Steve tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and drew back, wiped the mess from Stark’s face, and dipped his head again to lick at the man’s lovely mouth. “We’ll see,” Steve said, softer than he meant to. “We’ll see.”

 

*****

  
Ten minutes later and he was standing in the cold, hands plunged into his greatcoat, watching the bus drive away, rattle up the street in the wane of that cold November night.

The night sergeant, Wilson, had his arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Well, that’s one son of a bitch I never thought I’d see caught,” he said. “Good riddance to that fucking mook.”

Steve pulled out his cigarettes, stuck one between his teeth. “Yeah.”

Wilson shot him a look. “I thought you’d be over the moon about this, Steve. How long you been on this case? Six months?”

“Mmm. Nine.”

“Huh. Yeah. So why do you look like you just went to a funeral?”

Steve stared out at the flashing stop lights, the place where the bus had just been. Took a long, fiery drag. “Before and after,” he said finally. “You know how sometimes you get a moment in your life where the way things were end and the way things are gonna be hasn’t quite hit you yet?”

“Uh, sure. I guess so.”

“That’s where I am right now, Sergeant. In between what was and will be.” He looked over, gave Wilson the hint of a smile. “Just kinda want to know what’s gonna happen next, you know? What this will be is gonna look like.”

Wilson’s face creased. “Huh?”

“Nothing, Sergeant. Forget it.” Steve settled his hat down hard on his head and turned up his collar. “I’m just tired. Talking bullshit. You know how it is. Gonna head home.”

He turned away from the station, from Wilson, without another word and headed up the street, into the coming dawn, the same way the bus had gone.


End file.
